


Bleed Me Dry

by SocksinSpace



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Escape, I am obsessed with Dragon age in general since playing origins a few years back, I have not yet officially PLAYED the game, I have the game but my console is bricked so I have to wait a while before I can, I'll have to link it when I find it again, Like, M/M, Mage OC - Freeform, Miscommunication, Now I should say, Protective Dorian, Rogue Inquisitor - Freeform, Self-Indulgent, Slavery, and I have learned a lot abt DA2 and DA:I through youtube and lore blogs, basically me fleshing out an idea i've been sitting on for a while, but anywho!, but the urge- the urge! I must write, however, i MUST, like two whole months, longfic, no beta we die like men, possible au/canon divergence stuff, some things are gonna be sketchy of course im not like, somewhat inspired by another fic that was fenris/m!inquisitor, starts out before the Conclave, the Ultimate Dragon Age Lore Master or anything lmao, vaguely? but still it's a pretty good read so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-27 17:55:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30126645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SocksinSpace/pseuds/SocksinSpace
Summary: When Dorian made his leave of the Imperium, he met an escaped slave along the way. The poor elf was injured and fearful, but defensive and angry too, and Dorian for all his ignorance into the lives of slaves, could not deny helping the man the rest of the way to freedom. Of course, he didn't expect the former slave- who last he remembered, was literally snapping his teeth at him- would decide to follow him around from then on.He wouldn't admit it out loud either, but the ever-anxious and hot headed elf was growing on him. Like a weird lump on your foot.Thenthe Conclave explodes and from then on it's rather tits up as far as he's concerned.(AUGH! okay so like, turns out I'm more unhappy with this than I thought? I woke up today and looked at my draft for the next chapter and was like 'wow, this is not at all what I'd planned, what the hell happened?' so I decided I'm going to re-write it anyway. Ithasbeen a while since I've written so I think I jumped the gun a bit when starting this without a little practice writing beforehand. I'm going to write about five chapters before posting the new work. I'll be Orphaning this one after the new one is posted, it'll be under the same name however.)
Relationships: Dorian/Iron Bull, Fenris/Male Hawke, Male Inquisitor/Varric Tethras
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. The Resort of a Weak Mind

Now he loved his father, and his mother, his dear friend Maevaris, and his Homeland. But everything, everything- excepting Mae of course- was too much for him to bear anymore. Especially now, sitting in shock on a carriage Mae had arranged for him, after escaping Minrathous and his family- Halward in particular. Why? He kept thinking to himself, over and over again, and yet no answer would appear. Not anything that he liked, anyway. 'He was going to change me, perform blood magic- is he really that desperate to keep me in line? Is he really that ashamed of me?' The thought made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

He still couldn't quite believe it, even after the evidence had been presented. Letters, tomes on blood magic rituals, and so much more he couldn't wrap his head around it all. He'd gone to Mae, slipped away when Father dearest would be least likely to notice, and now he is here. Running. Well, riding rather comfortably. But figuratively, he was running. From everything. He obviously couldn't be safe around his own kin, and he was all but a pariah in the public's eyes- so why stay? Why live under the scrutinizing gaze of the Magisterium, worried that any slip up could lead to assassination, or worse? Dorian was done. Utterly through. He had to get away, and he could never return.

The Altus would be near the port soon, far enough away from Halward that by the time he realized what Dorian was doing and where he'd gone, it would be too late to stop him. Sure, he could send mercenaries to drag him back by his tailcoats, but that would just exasperate the scandal this whole event is sure to dredge up. If the rumors haven't already started. It didn't matter now, any of it, because he was leaving. Who knows? Maybe the south was more quaint and charming than his countrymen claimed.

Time passed painfully slow as the carriage pulled along the coastal trail, the waves of the ocean crashing against the shore like the vicious beast it was. He was already seasick thinking about it. Dorian could always open a book- of which he brought five from his personal collection for distractions- but he just felt too wound-up to focus on the words. Leaving home. For good. For all that he knew he had to, that he would regardless of anything else, leaving was... Well Tevinter is his home, torrid legacy and evil doings aside. There was just as much good as there was bad, and it was the good that he was unhappy to leave behind.

“Don't let your emotions get the best of you,” He said to himself, fiddling with the gold ring on his finger. It was shaped like a peacock feather- a gift from Mae before she sent him away. 'To remind yourself that you're a strutting peafowl of a man' she'd said in jest, though her eyes were misty. 'Stay safe' she'd then told him in a tight hug, before ushering him into the carriage and watching him be taken away. To freedom. He whispered into empty air, “I will, Mae, my dear friend.”

The sun was still high in the sky when he turned his gaze out the Carriage window again, and a deep sigh escaped him. Maybe a nap would do him some good, since reading is out of the question for the time being. Dorian closed the curtains of the carriage, closed his eyes, and fell asleep within minutes.

_Elswhere_...

Heart pounding in his ears he ran, ran, ran, as far as he could and as fast as he could. His side ached terribly, and his breathing was labored, but he kept running. He couldn't stop- would not stop- his only chance of getting away was that ship on he'd heard about from the other slaves, the one bringing in goods and travelers, and taking people out to the south. He had to get on that boat, somehow! Maybe he could disguise himself, or stow away, he was small enough to get into nooks that nobody would look in. Any way it had to be done, Servani _would_ get on that ship. And when he did, the elf would finally, _finally_ be free. For once getting to make his own choices, not fearing a cruel master, not worried that the slightest misstep will get you killed, tossed, or resold.

A flicker of a smile showed itself on his sweaty face, pale green eyes glinting in the light of the sunset that filtered in through the trees.

“Find that little rat! Kill him if you must! Either he comes back alive and nobody finds out what happened, or he dies and we pretend he never existed!” Kaffas, they were closer than he was comfortable with. He must be leaving a trail! With that thought Servani looked down, ducking quickly behind a large boulder. He was, Venhedis- the sudden realization of his rather nasty looking injury's existence had pain striking through him. He barely kept from yelling out even as his fingers touched the massive gash in his left side. The edges shredded and blood soaking into him. How the elf had made it this far with this kind of wound shocked him momentarily while he tried desperately to regain his bearings and _run_.

The yelling was getting closer, could hear the rustling of flora in the distance. “Rattus! We know you're out there, come willingly and your punishment will be painful, but swift!” Over his dead body. Possibly literally, if he either doesn't get away or doesn't tend to his wound. Servani had to act fast.

A beat passed, then two, he breathed in deep and attempted desperately to ignore the searing pain building in his side. Now or never, _now or never_ \- “Now or never.” He ran, fast as his body would take him, and didn't look back. The further he got, the quieter the yelling got, but he knew they'd catch his trail again soon enough if his bleeding had anything to say about it. “Run, just run, just keep going, keep running-” His vision blurred, the sky began to darken, and before Servani lost consciousness he vaguely recalled hitting something sturdy, and someone cursing in Tevene.

_”Oof- Fasta Vass! What-?”_ Dorian tumbled back, almost landing completely on his ass if he wasn't lucky enough to only hit the side of the carriage- if a bit roughly. In his dazed state he grabbed the stranger who'd fallen into him, maneuvering him so he could get a good look and- and stared straight at the face of a rather beaten and bruised looking elf. “Kaffas.” he spoke absentmindedly, kneeling down on the hard ground to get a good look at the injured elf's wounds. They were bad, and suddenly he grew very very worried. Who had hurt him? Was he a slave? Likely, it was rare to find Liberati in this part of Tevinter. Does that mean his master hurt him? Also likely, given that the only people he personally knew who treated their slaves and elven servants with any respect were his family and Maevaris. But if he was obviously running, then he must have escaped and- Kaffas, this was a big and sudden wrench in his schedule.

The ship he was supposed to be on left tomorrow morning, he couldn't afford to deal with whatever was going on here- but he couldn't leave a man, even a slave, to die alone. Not when Dorian could have done something. “Venhedis- Vishante kaffas! I hope this is worth the trouble I'm risking here.” out came his scarf from the small pack of things he'd brought. It was going to be put to use once he got further south- but it was the only large bit of fabric he had that could be used to stave off the terrible bleeding of that gash in the elf's side. He lifted the man delicately, wincing when he made a moan of pain, and wrapped the green scarf around the elf's midriff. Blood soaked through almost instantly, but thankfully seemed to slow by the time he began tying off the ends.

Dorian had just finished with his makeshift first aid when three men came barreling through the treeline a few yards away, yelling obscenities and looking angrier than a nesting dragon. This day couldn't get any worse. “You there!” One, a bald man with a rather dour scowl on his face called out as the group drew close. “You are in possession of private property, and I demand you hand it over immediately. You will be rewarded handsomely for returning our employer's.... 'prized' possession.”

“And might I ask who exactly your employer is? I'm inclined to report him for this man's current condition.” If looks could kill Dorian would be dead. “Oh calm your breeches, man, I said I'm inclined not that I will. I am a tad too busy today to handle the legal nonsense that would bring about.”

The man- a mage, but not an Altus for certain- gave a low chuckle, fiddling with the hilt of a dagger at his belt. “Well, I'm afraid I'm not inclined to say. Confidential, it's in my contract an' everything. Sorry.” Smug. Dorian admitted he was a bit of a bastard himself, but he hated when people were smug with him.

“Even so, I'm going to need proof of your... 'employer's' ownership of this slave before I just give him over. I am a humanitarian you know- for all I'm aware you could be sending this poor lad away to be used as a sacrifice. And now that isn't exactly legal, is it? At least not when publicly outed. Bit of a red mark on someone's reputation, hm?” a bit of bitterness entered his voice despite himself, and the mage's expression seemed to war between outrage at the accusation and confusion at his tone.

Suddenly, the man's eyes lit in recognition. Kaffas. “Ahhhh, I know who you are- the _Pavus_ heir yes? Heard you skipped town and your Father is livid. Sent out a search party and everything. Wonder what he'd do if he knew you were here, near the port, a port with a ship- a ship that is taking passengers to the south. Hm, he wouldn't be too pleased I don't think, would he?” Oh that was the wrong thing to say to Dorian. His fists clenched tight, and he sat the elven man down carefully before standing and stepping up to the bald mage. His two lackeys grew nervous.

“Yes, well, I'm afraid that considering this man is nearly _dead_ about now, and the blood on your robes suggests you are the cause of his injuries, I will have to kindly ask you to fuck off.” _That_ comment, obviously, did not sit well with the man. He snarled with indignation, eyes alight with his rage. Damn it all, why couldn't this day just go smoother? Dorian saw the flicker of magic in the man's hand- and the hands of his lackeys- and all hell broke loose.

On the men, of course. Dorian was called a prodigy for a very good reason. Not to say he came away without any injuries of his own of course- a cut here, a bruise there, a burn bad enough to really hurt. But he lived, and luckily his new, sudden charge was left unscathed by the battle. Well, still quite near death and breathing alarmingly shallow, but nothing new had been added to his collection of blood and pain, thank the Maker. Dorian sighed, feeling tired and heavy. “Well. Let's get going then.” He picked up the elf, careful not to jostle him too much, and payed the carriage driver a cursory apology for the ruckus. The man aboard the driver's seat merely nodded shakily, looking rightfully spooked out of his mind. Why he didn't run in the chaos Dorian will never understand.

Hours pass, the people around him stare like he's lost his mind. Carrying an injured elf? A slave? Oh the scandal! Nobody recognized him yet at least, so the whispers of 'pariah' and 'shame of house pavus' didn't crop up at all. He was thankful for that at least. The elf, of course, while in significantly better condition than hours prior- as in, he was no longer afraid that the man would suddenly stop breathing- was still rather banged up, and Dorian felt uncomfortable leaving him alone for any length of time. Not mentioning the chance of some Tevinter native getting _ideas_ about 'unclaimed property'. He at least wanted to figure out what in Maker's name happened before he sent the elf on his way. He didn't have much time however, given that he _really_ needed to sleep some before getting on the ship tomorrow.

If anyone did recognize him before then he risked his father going on a mad goose chase. Sure he'd be gone by then, but if his father was really determined to get his little heir back to make him 'normal', then it wouldn't bode well for him to have a chance at tracking Dorian down through any means. The Altus sighed, looking down at the battered, heavy weight in his arms. He should get back to the portside Inn, check the wounds. Wouldn't do for them to get infected.

All sense of callousness aside, he didn't truly want to just abandon the man. He was injured, probably terrified out of his wits before passing out, and well! Dorian likely wouldn't announce it out loud, but he _worried_ for the poor, beaten up slave. Such treatment... Ah, maybe if he woke up soon, Dorian could figure out a way to get him to Mae. She'd treat him well, for certain- pay him too. He'd live on her estate, but he'd essentially be Liberati under her care. Yes, if the elf woke up before Dorian had to leave he'd suggest that.

But if he didn't, then... Hm.

A small noise broke the troubling thoughts before they could manifest, leaving him aware that he had finally made it back to his room at the Inn. He really needed to pay attention to his surroundings, for all he knew his absent thinking could have landed him in the water. And that certainly wouldn't end well for anyone. Dorian looked down at the elf, realizing that his face was scrunched up in pain, and he was groaning softly. Ah, speak and he shall appear, the slave was starting to come to.

Quickly, Dorian walked over to the small bed and lay his burden down upon it with care. A few strands of black hair fell into the man's face and he brushed it away to get a good look at him as he woke. “Can you hear me?” He asked, voice nonthreatening as he could manage. Not nearly nonthreatening enough however, for when he finished his sentence the elven man's pale green eyes snapped open and he moved to sit upright so fast that their heads knocked together. Hard. “Vishante Kaffas!” he fell back onto the floor, rubbing at his sore head with a look of mild displeasure. “That smarted, though not nearly as much as your other injuries I suspect. Aside from the sudden shock, are you alright? You kind of ran right into me and promptly lost consciousness. Quite alarming from my perspective I admit.”

The elf did not respond for a few seconds, just staring blankly at Dorian in the most disconcerting of ways. Then, with a swiftness Dorian has rarely seen, the man made for the door- near kicking him in the face while doing so. He didn't make it far thankfully, suddenly doubling over in pain when he twisted the wrong way and aggravated his still not-quite-properly-treated side injury. Of course this meant more blood, and immediate concern on the Altus's part. “Maker's tits, man! You've been patched up the best I can manage but I am most assuredly neither a doctor nor healer of any kind. You must be careful! I'd give you a health potion, but I used the last one to bring you back from the brink of death.”

“What do you want?” The elf croaked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Beneath that Dorian saw them swimming with pain.

“Excuse me?”

The elf growled low in his throat and touched a hand to his injured side. “For helping me, Altus, what do you want? I'm assuming we're still in Tevinter, and everything done for an elf, a _slave_ comes with a price that slave must pay.” He sounded almost resigned underneath the hard edge in his voice. Dorian admitted he was a little off-put.

“I want nothing but to ensure you don't die. I took care of those scoundrels chasing you as well, by the way, brutes they were. Tried to blackmail me into giving you over. Pah! I don't take kindly to slave mistreatment.” The elf spat, obviously angered by something he said.

“And yet you're perfectly fine with owning elven lives? Oh, sorry, I mean _Rattus_. That is what you like to call us, yes?” Oh he was angry, he even lost most of the resignation. He huffed, brows lowering as he kept the elf's gaze.

“You would prefer the poverty that awaits you with freedom? Do you even know how to read?” The elf flinched, and Dorian smiled sympathetically. “Ah, you actually don't. My apologies. But, no, I do not like to call elves.... 'Rattus'. A bit too demeaning for my tastes. I just like to call you elves. Simple as that.” The elf's look told him that they didn't believe Dorian for a second. He rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Oh please, don't give me that look. Not every Tevinter mage is some evil little troglodyte looking to cause pain and suffering. Hm, perhaps you know me- ah, wait, I shouldn't introduce myself. I'm trying to get _out_ of Tevinter, shouldn't allow any chance of you revealing where I last was when you leave.”

For a moment the elf seemed stunned. “You're trying to _leave_? You're clearly an Altus, which means you're a mage- which gives you higher standing. Why would you want to leave the one place that your title actually holds weight?”

Dorian's answer was swift and easy. “Because it doesn't hold weight, not really. It's my father's title that holds weight. _I'm_ the Pariah nobody wants around, and only tolerates because I'm the only child. The heir. Well, was the heir. I won't be once I'm out of here.” That only seemed to confuse the elf further. “Hm, ah! What's your name? I'd like to have something to call you other than 'elf' or 'little man'. You only have the one ear that's pointed though so maybe 'half-elf' is more suitable?”

Now it was the elf's- he really must call him something else- turn to roll his eyes, looking no less tense but at least a fair bit amused by Dorian's lack of hostilities and odd demeanor. “Tell me your name and I'll consider telling you mine.”

“Ah, eye for eye is it? Or tit for tat, I suppose. Can I trust you to keep my Identity a secret?” Perhaps he could, perhaps not.

“Yes.”

“That was easy enough.”

“Well I'd like to be called something other than 'half-elf' thank you, so if keeping your identity secret gets me there then fine.”

Dorian huffed his laughter, pleased that the elf- seriously, he needs to come up with something- was engaging with banter. Again, though, he seemed only to get tenser by the second. Partially from pain he assumed, but also because well. He's a slave that in his mind was being chased by murderous mages just minutes ago. He definitely didn't trust Dorian as far as he could throw him. And with those arms he likely can't throw far. “Dorian Pavus. Now, what's your name?”

The elf froze for a good minute after Dorian had given his name, the cogs turning behind his eyes as he assessed the situation he found himself in. Good, he was a clever elf then, thinking things through. The minute of silence ended however, and he finally responded with great hesitation.

“Servani. My name is Servani.” Ah, finally.

“Well Servani, pleased to make your acquaintance. I think you'd probably like to get those nasty injuries properly cared for now, yes? If you can wait here- lock the door of course- I can see if the port market uphill has something that can help.” Now that he was awake Dorian wasn't as nervous about leaving him alone, and with him being injured he wasn't worried about Servani trying to leave before he could help him. Well, it was late. People were still out yes, but the market could be closed- Kaffas he should have checked sooner. Worth a shot checking now however. He stood, rubbing his head where it was rammed into Servani's earlier once more, and made his way from the room. He heard the relieving *click* of the door lock as he walked down the short hall and down the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bc I want to get to the meat of the story without going _too fast_ or **too slow**. These first few chapters, while long in comparison to my past way of writing (as in, 2000-5000 words as a goal instead of just a flat 1000-2000), will have minor 'time skips' leading up to Dorian meeting the Inquisitor and consequently joining the Inquisition.

To say that Servani was confused was an understatement.

He was more than confused, he was utterly _mystified_ at the man, the **Altus** , not only saving his life from the slavers that had chased him, but doing his best to heal his wounds despite his clear lack of knowledge on the subject. ' _Why_?' he kept wondering, even as the healing potions eased the pain. There had to be an Ulterior motive.

And he'd been right, or so Servani assumed, when the Pavus heir tried to convince him to go serve a 'good friend' of his. Sending him back to being a slave. No, no he wouldn't allow it- and he made that very, _very_ clear when he snapped his teeth and tried to set the human on fire. 'Alright! Alright! I get it- you do Not like that idea!' he'd said, quite thoroughly terrified by the sudden display of aggression. 'I can't just leave you to yourself however,' the man had tried to explain, face suddenly serious. 'You go to Mae and she could buy you from your former Master- I really need to learn who they were, but I get the sneaking suspicion you won't tell me- and she could protect you. You'd be legally a slave, but with almost all the freedoms of a Liberati. Pay, the freedom to wander off the estate without escort, no chains or collars or brands- and most importantly, no suffering.'

Dorian made it sound like such an _easy_ choice, such a simple decision. But to him it would be, he didn't know what the life of a slave was like- did not understand why one would want freedom, or why one wouldn't even know that freedom was something they _could_ want. Perhaps it was just ignorance, but Servani couldn't afford for even the well-meaning misinformed. He'd gotten angry again as well- growling out how he refused to be a slave, even one with _false freedom_ like he suggested.

'I have no time to explain to you how skewed your vision of slavery appears to be- just know that I refuse to go back to that life, ever! I will _die_ before I let another human own me like cattle. And I will kill you if you even try to force me back into that life.'

And Dorian tried, again, to explain why it isn't safe for him to be wandering Tevinter unaccompanied- injured and still healing, obviously a runaway, alone and prime pickings for anyone with less-than-savory intentions. He'd be captured and resold before the week was out. Or worse yet, he'd be sent back to his Master, where only death would await him. Servani could almost laugh at how daft the Altus was.

'Then take me with you instead.'

For a while, it seemed like he would really end up left alone, the Altus ranting about the life that would surely await him as a free elf. He couldn't read, couldn't write, was a _mage_. He'd either end up a poverty-stricken apostate, or killed by Templars. Servani would rather die a free man than die in chains, however, and had voiced as much. He hadn't realized that he'd begun to cry however- his growing panic at the prospect of being left behind to rot hitting him so fast that he didn't notice- and instantly the human caved. Seemingly appalled with himself for making the elf so upset, he just. He just said 'Okay' and that was that.

Even with the assurance that he would be taken to freedom, Servani couldn't help the fear he always felt around humans, especially human mages. The more he healed on the ship the more he felt like himself. And 'himself' was very fearful, defensive, anxious, and _obstinate_. The whole way he made Dorian take the first bite of any food he offered the elf, refused to sleep when the human was awake, outright tried to **bite him** every time Dorian went to touch him. And still, somehow, the man was ever-patient and kind. Sarcastic, a bastard, and very boastful of his 'good looks'- pah- but still kind. He never raised a hand in harm, started taking the first bite before even being told, and stopped casually touching him, even to check his bandages, without Servani's explicit consent.

Without realizing it, Servani had begun to slowly, kind of, somewhat trust the man. A little. As much as a former slave could trust a Tevinter Mage who wasn't trying to enslave them, anyhow.

And that is how he decided after the month-long trip to the south- lengthened by heavily rough waters that made him quite ill, eugh- that he would stick with Dorian. A traveling companion so-to-speak. Dorian had looked utterly confused and flabbergasted when Servani declared his intentions, but that only served to strengthen his resolve. This man didn't want to hurt him, to enslave him- He _helped_ him. And while his preening and sarcastic humor was annoying, Servani got the feeling that he'd be safer- and more entertained- in the Altus's company.

Dorian really hadn't known what he was getting himself into when he decided to help Servani escape Tevinter with him.

The elven man practically pissed himself whenever he caught an unexpected glimpse of his own shadow, but was waspish and aggressive at every turn. When things got overwhelming, or he panicked, the elf cried- but the moment you try to comfort him he goes all blank-faced and quiet. He couldn't read nor write, which is unfortunately common for most slaves, freed or otherwise- but for some reason known only to the Maker he _trusted_ Dorian to teach him, and to read things to him. Even in the same breath as he tried to set him on fire or freeze his delicates. And speaking of which, he was _very_ good with magic.

Now it wasn't unknown for a Master to teach any mage slaves how to use their magic, occasionally (though rarely) taking one under their wing as an apprentice even. But Servani insists that he taught himself everything he knew. Sneaking around his Master's home in the dead of night to read old tomes and practice spells. Apparently he'd been planning his escape since he was very young, and wanted to be prepared to defend himself. Something about the expression on the elf's face, and his tone of voice as he admitted that, made Dorian feel uneasy- and a bit protective, though he wouldn't admit _that_.

Overall this whole experience has been utterly strange. He started this out trying to escape his father, and ended up aiding and abetting an escaped slave. Not that he particularly regrets it, it's just something he hadn't expected to happen. Maevaris would laugh at him if she knew that he hadn't even managed to _leave_ Tevinter yet before getting caught up in something-or-other. The thought made him pout childishly.

Having a companion on his travels through Thedas was a welcome experience, he didn't get bored as often- though annoyingly Servani wouldn't let him be the drunkard he was always destined to be- and whenever a roaming Templar or two got brazen, he had someone at his back. He wouldn't lie, knowing that he could make certain this elven man he saved from death didn't end up dead or worse was comforting to his moral integrity. And that thought grew stronger the more he learned about slavery from Servani.

He never exactly _approved_ of the practice, always found it distasteful really, but he'd always thought it somehow better than the alternatives. A slave, once a slave, would struggle greatly when freed. Especially those that were born into slavery. Dorian remembers being taken to city slums by his father as a child, being shown all the Liberati that hadn't gotten lucky, the ones who ended up re-selling themselves into servitude, or scrounging in the streets for scraps. The haggard looks and sickly children haunted him from then on, and he was so certain, _so certain_ , that it would be better to be a slave or servant than to die hungry and poor in the underbelly of Tevinter.

Well, it took no more than a few months of Servani telling him in painful detail what life was actually like for most slaves to convince him he was horribly wrong.

He could make the excuse that he was just ignorant, that the way he was raised made him blind to the truth. But in reality he knew that was horseshit. Maybe he wasn't consciously aware of the reality of things, but he like everyone else turned a blind eye to the negatives. He in particular dismissed it as 'unfortunate outliers' or some other garbage like that. Pathetic really, considering how many parties he'd been to where the corpses of slaves were a common find. Be it by murder or blood magic.

But Dorian couldn't mope over his inaction, that wouldn't change a thing. He just needed to _do better_ , simple as that. And he did, with Servani and any elves they came across. The two of them even managed to stop a few slaving caravans trying to sneak off with a hoard of elves both Dalish and Cityborn. Servani got particularly _aggressive_ when they did that, though Dorian certainly couldn't blame him for it. Encouraged it even, considering how joyful he seemed about preventing his circumstances from happening to the elves they saved.

Seeing him happy made Dorian happy. In a weird, familial sort of way. Like having an annoying younger brother- Maker's tits, Dorian was becoming _sentimental_ , the scandal! Servani couldn't find out about that, he'd never let the Altus live it down.

“Shit.”

“I'm sorry what? What's wrong, Dorian?” The man in question turns around, holding the letter that they'd found slipped under the door of their room at the Inn that morning. His face was pale, almost angry. And concerned, very concerned. “Dorian.” His head shot up, mouth opening to respond and closing almost immediately. Instead of a verbal reply, the human merely passes him the letter to read. He too grows pale when he realizes what it is. “So,” Servani began, “Shit, yeah?”

“Good to see you're reading skill is so good, a testament to my teaching skills truly- but, yes, kaffas is about right for this. I can't believe that man, is he out of his mind?!” Servani didn't know much about Alexius, just that he was Dorian's mentor and that the two had gotten along well. And that the man's son, Felix, was also a good friend's of Dorian's. Though they hadn't spoke in some time due to an unfortunate falling out with the man's father. Now it seemed that his former mentor really had lost his marbles- and that he'd found Dorian somehow was concerning- well actually it wasn't that concerning, Dorian was an extravagant peacock of a man wherever he went, so someone from Tevinter tracking them down wasn't all that shocking really. “Join the Venatori? Madness! I want to change Tevinter, not make it worse! And- _Vishante Kaffas_ , Felix. Maker I hope he's alright.”

It was worrying, and it sounded like whatever was happening was only going to get worse- the letter said that Alexius was in Thedas, heading for Ferelden at the time of writing. Something about Dorian coming to Redcliffe and speaking in private about the Magister's proposal. Andraste's ass. Weren't things bad enough with a gigantic green hole in the sky? Templars, rogue mages, demons, _fucking Venatori_. Servani hadn't been this damned stressed since- since yesterday actually, when Dorian pissed off a rather large and angry looking soldier. The human was drunk off his ass too, so Servani had to step in so Dorian wouldn't loose his head.

This man gives him so much anxiety with his antics- and Dorian thought _he_ was _Servani's_ ~Drunkard Mage in Shining Knickers~ as he called it in a drunk stupor one night. Fasta vass.

“So what are we going to do about this? I really don't trust this-” 

“You don't trust anyone or anything from Tevinter except me, Servani.” 

“-Shut it! I'm talking- I don't trust this, I don't trust the feeling I'm getting about this whole situation. You haven't talked with Alexius in years, _why_ is he trying to recruit you into a cult? Last time you two talked, you were kind of an ass about his grief and ran off!” The elf rubbed his face in frustration, moving his right hand to fiddle with his one unmarred ear when he continued speaking. His voice was trying for even but even Dorian could hear the worry. “Maybe it's a trap? Maybe he's suddenly forgot his ire- I don't _trust it, Dorian._ ”

The Altus's own feelings were pushed aside momentarily when concern bubbled in his chest at the sight of a frustrated Servani. Anything Tevinter related tended to trigger his fear of the place, of the people in Tevinter. Dorian still had hope for his homeland and Servani knew it, but he understood that the elf couldn't help how he felt, after all he'd been through. He was starting to panic, and that would only lead to tears. Dorian stepped in before things could get worse.

“Hey, hey!” The Altus gripped the elf's shoulders, making sure he saw the movement, and looked into the smaller man's eyes. “Whatever this is, we can't leave it alone. And whoever this 'Elder one' he speaks of in the letter is, clearly they're powerful, and deadly, and we can't risk not finding out what he is scheming.” A sigh, his brows pinched as his thoughts wandered. “-Last I heard,” He said, distracted. “Felix was alive. Alexius has obsessed over his health since the accident and no doubt he'd have brought his son with him. Perhaps... Perhaps we can handle this- delicately, hm?”

“You mean sneak in behind the Magister's back?”

Dorian grinned, charming as ever, even though his eyes betrayed his serious mood. “Why of course! We've gone sneaking around places before haven't we? It'd be like getting into trouble, but you'd be joining me instead of stopping me! Wouldn't that be fun?”

“No.”

“Ah, what?”

“Dorian I can't- you can go ahead, I won't stop you, but- I won't go anywhere near a Venatori agent, an agent from the _Magesterium_. I can hide at a rendezvous site while you check things out, but I can't go with you okay?” His voice was rough and quiet, filled with fear, and Dorian did not want to make that worse. He nodded his acceptance, checking once to make sure the elf wouldn't fall apart anytime soon, and let go of his shoulders, stepping back a pace. Servani let out a long sigh in vague attempt at calming himself down. He needed a level head right now.

“Alright, we'll head in that general direction, and we can set up camp far enough away that I can get in, get out, and find you without fuss. That alright? I might be a few days when we get there if things are as serious as I'm hoping they're _not_ , so we need to make sure you'll be safe and able to feed yourself while I'm away.” Servani nodded his reply, not really feeling up to speaking anymore. Dorian let it be. “Let's prepare and get going- I get the feeling things are about to get interesting.” Or go absolutely mad, but that wouldn't be new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously some timeline things were fudged. I looked at the wiki but only found enough cursory information to somewhat help me here. Still helpful! But woof, I'm anxious about this chapter for many reasons. I'd consider re-writing parts if anything is pointed out to me, or if enough people think the pacing is off. Either way, the chapter is done. Hm, I should tag that this fic is unbeta'd. I don't know why this hasn't occurred to me before now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after the last chapter I felt off about the idea of picking up from the Inquisitor's POV (as I originally intended) right at the time Dorian joined up. That's an entire section of the story just kind of. Cut out. Which seemed weird in hindsight- so! I'm not starting over, but the first two chapters are now more of a setup for how Dorian and Servani met, plus an excuse to keep Servani from being at Redcliffe (I felt his addition there would be out of place for the time being) when Inky and Dorian meet. This wasn't supposed to be a fic from just their POV's anyhow- the Inquisitor is equally important (well. That's not news lmao.) to the story. So now we're backtracking in the timeline a bit, entering the Lavellan Inquisitor's POV, and the real meat of the story starts here.
> 
> I also admit that I have been very nervous about writing this fic! I do not know ~why~ that is, considering I'm pretty gung-ho about everything else I've written. I'll try to keep my anxiety out of my writing.

In the time since the Conclave, leaving his home, and being named Herald of Andraste by simpering masses that seemed to conveniently forget that he is Dalish, Mahanon Lavellan has been slowly brewing in his barely-contained contempt. It wasn't that he exactly hated everyone, no he wasn't so shallow as to paint them all with a single stroke, but it was that they were all both willfully and unknowingly ignorant, the lot of them. They ignore his ears and call him a prophet, they stare at his Vallaslin even as they beg for his blessings, and they call him knife-ear as he passes- quiet enough to think that he might not hear. But he does.

His knives weigh heavy where they hide in his armor, sharp and precise and his hands itched to pull them out and force everyone to see that he wasn't some Maker-sent hero here to save them all in his bride's name. He was not Andrastian, he was _Dalish_ , and he was proud to be so. But he also wasn't heartless. And he knew, even when in the same breath they insult him- knowingly or not- the idea that the woman they worship, the bride of their God, sent them a savior in their darkest of hours? How cruel would it be of him to strip them of that hope, the only thing keeping them going, keeping them willing to fight.

Mahanon's ire vanished quite quickly when he was around his fellow rogue Varric, of course. 

The dwarf was a calming presence to be around, though certainly not a quiet one. Mahanon usually tracked him down when things were getting overwhelming for him- right now being one of those times. It was late and the Tavern was bright, calling all hither with the promise of song and booze. He, of course, knew that at this time of night his favorite dwarf would be around. He found him telling a tale to a few strangers about the Champion of Kirkwall's more humorous adventures.

“-He didn't even know Hawke was there! Said to the woman he was with 'Where have you been all my life? Today, I am more than a man! Come! Felicitate me!' Hawke said he was out of his mind, affected by a Desire demon. I wasn't there when he did all this, mind, but I trust his word on how absurd the situation was.” Varric interrupted himself when Mahanon came into sight. “Ah, Herald of Andraste! Here to grace us with your presence?” If it was anyone else saying that he'd be angry again, but knowing what he's come to know about Varric, it doesn't bother him at all. He smiles warmly, joking back at the charming dwarf.

“Why yes, Mister Tethras- This den of sin demands the _holy_ attentions of Andraste's Herald! Can't allow you all to loose your way, eh?” Varric chuckled good naturedly and patted a seat next to him. Luckily the bystanders who'd been listening to his tale knew to clear out, so the two were left in privacy for the time being.

“Surprised you haven't gone back to your cabin, Herald, I could see how stressed you were walking around Haven today. Thought maybe you'd rather get some actual rest for once instead of drinking.” It wasn't lecturing, but there was a bit of concern in his voice. Mahanon gave his best, most convincing smile, and carefully ignored the slight throbbing in his left hand.

“Nah,” He began, voice even. “Heading for Redcliffe soon, Josephine asked me to pick out who I want to travel with. I'm thinking Sera, Bull, and you, if you want to come with?” He knew Varric would say yes, He'd taken the dwarf on ever excursion thus far, but he always wanted to double-check. Just in case.

Varric patted his back with a grin, “Sure thing, oh Herald, I'd be glad to be part of your entourage.” They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Varric seeming to notice how haggard Mahanon felt. Mahanon quietly ordered a mug of ale, watered down so he doesn't lose his head drinking, and sips at it for a time. He thinks about how he's going to handle the situation with the mages, would Fiona even be willing? They were in a tough position with the Mage-Templar war, so he couldn't be sure until he spoke with her.

Eventually Varric broke the silence, “Curly probably isn't happy about this is he?”

Mahanon snorts, that was an understatement. “He accepts my choice, but I can see how frustrated he is about it. He may not be a Templar in name anymore, but the Templars are still his people. He wants to see them safe.” A beat of silence, then, “To a degree I can respect that. I also respect the fact that he's taking the choice I made with dignity.”

“That's good, he seems like he's got a lot on his plate. But then again, we all do, don't we? Big hole in the sky and everything.” He was somber, now. Mahanon sighs, finishing his mug and setting it down on the table with a soft thud. His eyes were heavy.

“It's time I get some rest, I think. Thank you for the company Varric, and thank you for joining me to Redcliffe.”

“No problem, O' Herald.”

“Come to the Chantry, you're in danger.” He reads out loud, face scrunched in discontent and a bit of anger at the turn of events. Fiona didn't remember inviting them here, had pledged her people- of which she and some of the mages under her were _elves_ , what was she thinking?- to Tevinter. Specifically a Magister by the name of Alexius. “I don't like where this is headed.”

“Neither do I, sounds like a bunch a' piss to me.” Sera chimed, nose scrunched in that cute but mildly threatening way. Sort of like a young awkward wolf that is still fully willing and able to tear your throat out if it so pleased. He liked Sera. “Think we should trust it? 'Cause I don't trust it.”

“Honestly I don't either, but I'd rather find it out now than risk getting shocked later.” His reply was easy, but he still felt off-put. To the chantry they go, he supposed. “Let's get this over with.”

Ah, well never let it be said that his gut feelings were wrong. Ever. He was always right and that was that- Sera too, he'd give her all the terrible cookies she wanted when they got back to Haven.

The Chantry was utterly swarming with demons, and the pain in his hand has crescendoed into a dull roar. So, big glowy rift and demons. _Great_. He watched for a moment with the others as a handsome mage beat back a few demons with a display of raw magical power that had Mahanon feeling almost envious- and he wasn't even a mage himself! Once he'd taken down the Demons closest to him he turned, looking utterly worn. It seems he may have been fighting for a time and was loosing the battle with exhaustion. He grinned, though his eyes held a grim expression as he addressed them.

“Ah, I was wondering when you'd show up! Now could you give me a hand with this?” And then more demons attacked. This time they all joined in to fight.

Bull charged with his axe and brought it down, hard, on what Mahanon thought might have been a despair demon. While Varric got into a ranged position and started shooting his bolts fast as he could- as always his aim was impeccable, Mahanon was eternally impressed. Sera, too, got herself into a favorable position to shoot her bow.

Ah, maybe it wasn't a good idea to have three rogues on one team.

Mahanon sprinted in the direction of an envy demon, back turned to him as it focused its attentions on the mage. Pulling a knife from his boot he leapt, landing onto the nasty creature's back, and plunged it as deep as he could into its flesh. Just below where its.... head? Was. It shrieked and reared back, limbs flailing wildly. The mage finished it off with a blast of magic and it was down, twitching weakly before stopping altogether. He slid his knife out from the thing's 'neck' and focused his attention on helping his teammates.

He flanked demons going after Sera, Varric, the Mage, or Bull. Cutting at them in whatever was the most obvious vital areas, or wherever he thought would do the most damage. Each time he barely avoided getting slashed at or crushed under corpses, but it kept the others from injury, so he would bear with it. It was concerning however how many times he missed or couldn't evade fast enough- it seemed as though some areas of the room had been sped up or, or slowed down but. How? His body ached quite a bit and by the time the battle was finally done, it seemed that he had been hit the most. The others chided him of course, as he was prone to doing this to himself, but he ignored it in favor of closing the rift.

The pain in his hand was searing, and he almost doubled over. Thankfully, as was usual, the pain briefly- blissfully- vanished completely once it was sealed, and he thanked the gods that he would be free of it for the next half-hour. The mage with whom they'd fought alongside dusted himself off, giving Mahanon a look of mild awe. Oh fenhedis please don't be another Andrastian sycophant, he couldn't take it right now.

“How _did_ you do that?” he asked instead, staring down at his hand then back at his face. A beat of silence passed, and Mahanon realized that, well... he didn't actually know how. The man seemed to recognize this and let out a mystified laugh. “You don't even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers, and Boom! Rift closes.”

For a moment they stare at one another. The mage with mirth, and Mahanon with mild discomfort. Then his eyes widen as he realizes something. “Ah, getting ahead of myself I see-” The man bows with a flourish. “Dorian of house Pavus, Most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

Behind him, Bull snorts. “Watch yourself, the pretty ones are always the worst.”

“Suspicious friends you have here,” Dorian's tone was light as he said it, but it became suddenly serious as he continued. “Magister Alexius was my mentor, so my assistance will be valuable – as you can imagine.”

Mahanon quirks a brow, recalling who, exactly, had given him the note earlier. “I had assumed that Felix would be here?”

“Ah, I'm sure that he'll be here soon don't worry- he was to give you my note and meet us here once he shrugged off his father. Felix has been ill for some time you see, and he is Alexius's only child. Likely he's being mother-henned right about now, if he pretended to faint to give you the note as I suspect he would have.” When he spoke of Felix he seemed almost sad.

“Are you a Magister?” Mahanon asked him rather bluntly, and Dorian scoffed, almost offended.

“Alright, I will only say this once- I am a mage from Tevinter, yes, but I am most decidedly _not_ a member of the Magisterium.” It sounded rehearsed, he's possibly had to say this far more than once. “I know some southerners find the terms interchangeable, but that only makes you look like barbarians.”

Varric decided to chime in, with Sera mumbling in relief beside him. “Look, just tell us what's going on big guy, I get the feeling we don't have all day.”

“Ah, no you don't. Let's start with how Alexius stole the allegiance of the rebel mages out from under you?”

“Please do,” Mahanon allowed.

“Yes, well-” Dorian clears his throat preparing to delve into the details. He speaks to the point. “As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, he had to distort time itself.” What? Shit.

Mahanon looked a bit uncomfortable he thought. “That sounds complicated, and deeply unsettling.” His lips twitched at Sera chiming in with her usual way of wording things. He got the gist that she wholeheartedly agreed with his sentiment.

“Yes, well, you saw exactly how that rift affected the area around it, yes? You especially, Herald, you should tend to your injuries soon I suspect,”

“Yeah, Herald, take better care of yourself would ya?” Varric interjected, expression sour with his concern.

“Soon, you see, there will be more like it. And they'll start appearing further and further away from Redcliffe.” His expression was grave, his face slightly pale as he spoke. His voice, however, remained steady, if grim. “This magic Alexius is using is highly unstable, and it's unraveling the world.”

This was all very disconcerting, and quite honestly Mahanon should have expected some halla-dung like this to happen. Time magic, time magic! And the one helping them had also aided in its creation. Fantastic. Oh, yes, and the one _using_ said magic is part of a cult- a cult that wants him dead! This whole grand situation kept getting more complicated by the second and he was _worried_ , damn it. He was a rogue, a hunter for his clan, he was so out of his depth in all this saving-the-world business. Gods, what was he doing? He should be at home, providing for his clan. Not here, risking life and limb in a world-ending event that could very well kill him and everyone he loved.

And now he stood with the war council, trying to decide how to handle their new.. situation.

Cullen's voice was stern, lips set in a grim line. “We can't just storm the castle! That'd be suicide- we'd be better off just going after the Templars at this rate.”

Cassandra's reply was calm, but she made it clear that she would not budge. “If Redcliffe is in the hands of a Magister then we cannot leave it be. There is too much risk, letting this man sit with his army of mages.” Josephine chimed in as well.

“The letter asked for the Herald by name, this is an obvious trap.”

Mahanon just sighed, tired from thinking about all this for hours on end. It was important he knew that, but he also hated to admit that he hasn't slept properly in far too long. He should ask Solas for one of those dreamless sleep potions that he'd offered him a while back, perhaps that would help him rest for once. “How very kind of our dear Magister, pray tell- what does he say of me?”

It was Leliana who answered him, suspicion in her tone. “He was so complimentary that we are quite certain he wishes to kill you.”

“Not this again.” Josephine bemoans as Cullen replies in turn.

“Redcliffe castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. It has withstood thousands of assaults over the years.” He then turns his gaze to Mahanon, almost pleadingly. “If you go in there like Alexius wants, you will die. We'll loose the only chance we have of closing the rifts- I can't allow that.”

Mahanon tunes out for a while, needing to focus in on himself for the time being to think. He knows in the background that the four of the war council are going back and forth over the situation, but he doesn't allow himself to listen. This cult is focused on him- which means if they deny the request to meet then they won't accept it. They'll find another way to get to him. That could mean one of a few things.

Either assassination, an outright siege, or using something to lure him out into the open. His clan most likely. He couldn't allow that, so they needed to accept the invitation- but how to avoid things going awry? Maybe...

“Is there another way into the castle? A hidden passage, a tunnel perhaps? Anything that might get enough individuals inside unnoticed to give us an upper hand.” The four paused, thinking. Cullen was about to say something when Leliana interjected.

“There is something, a passage that was made for the noble family as an escape route, in case of emergency. It would be too narrow for our troops, but large enough to send agents through.”

“They'd be found long before they reached the Magister, Leliana.”

“And that's why we need a distraction- the Envoy Alexius wants so badly, perhaps?”

Cullen thought, pensive. “It's a risk, but... It might work.”

“Luckily, you'll have help!” In came Dorian, two men in tow as he strut up to Mahanon's side and stared down the council. One man was a soldier of Cullen's, the other- A very, very anxious looking elf.


	4. Chapter 4

Solas watched. Maybe he shouldn't, maybe he should just leave them all be unless he is needed until this is over, and then move on. But he has not much else to do but sit and think, or watch.

So the latter was what he did.

He noticed the comings and goings of people, some making pilgrimage to see the Herald, others coming to join the Inquisition. Humans and elves alike, all gathering here in Haven. If anyone attacked, many people would die. He hoped it didn't come to that.

It was his watching that led to him noticing the hurried entrance of a dark-skinned mage and an elf following quickly behind him. They headed directly for the Chantry, a soldier following them in a rush. Solas followed from a distance and stood a short ways away from the entrance, enough to get a better look once- or if- they exited. Ten minutes passed, then thirty, then an hour had gone by. But still he waited.

And there they were, the Human Mage and his Elf companion. The two stood outside talking to one-another, a fretting look on the shorter elf, and a look of vague concern on the taller mage. The elf was a mage too, but there was something off about his magic. He'd have to figure out what was going on there when he had the time.

The elf's eyes were an impossibly pale green, almost white in how light they were. His hair was black, thick and long, tied up in a loose bun on his head. The human had dark hair and a look about him that screamed 'I spend five hours in the mirror every morning'. The mustache looked utterly ridiculous in Solas's opinion. He already didn't have a high opinion of him.

But then he didn't allow himself to have a high opinion of anybody. He couldn't afford attachments, couldn't allow them to be real in his mind.

The mage turned and pointed towards the tavern, and while his back was turned the elf looked his direction. They locked eyes, and the elf looked suddenly both annoyed and utterly terrified. Then- his eyes flashed with an emotion Solas couldn't read, and he was calm again, holding onto the wrist of his Human companion and walking away.

Odd.

Two days until Dorian left with the Herald for Redcliffe. He'd said that Servani couldn't go with him, it was too much of a risk this time. Anyone could see the Herald traveling and follow them to their destination, and if Dorian left him at camp like last time, he would be a sitting duck. It annoyed him, and scared him, but he understood. He could survive time away from Dorian- he could! He just. Didn't trust strangers. Servani would just stay away from them then.

He watched, from shadows and locations he could escape from easily. The people running about, doing their business and living their lives. He watched them all with scrutiny and a hard look of stone. They wouldn't see his fear, they wouldn't catch him off guard. _Especially_ not the bald elf that also watched everything with a quiet calculation.

Servani wasn't sure how to feel about him to be quite honest.

A day passed of him watching, eyes catching a glimpse of the bald elf now and then. Apparently his name was Solas and he wasn't much one for conversation, avoiding everyone, but mostly humans. Servani understood that, humans were scary. Except for Dorian of course, he trusted him.

So, Servani went up to the elf the day after Dorian departed.

He'd snuck around the long way to avoid interacting with anyone else- everybody knew he was with a Tevinter mage, and gave him this disgusting look of pity that he wishes he could just blast off their faces. He was _not_ a slave, not anymore. Not Ever.

Servani stood five feet behind the bald elf, though at this point he expected the obviously perceptive man to have noticed him. He stepped up, watching the slight tilt of the other elf's head, and cleared his throat. Servani would not touch his shoulder, he did not touch anyone but himself and Dorian. That... sounded gross..

“Atish'an, Da'len.” Solas speaks, turning his head to greet him. Servani wrinkles his nose in confusion.

“Elvish I assume? I'm sorry, I only know the Trade Tongue and Tevinter.” His apology is sincere- his mother had been Dalish, but she was taken at a young age and never received her Vallaslin or learned much of the Elvish language. Solas's expression turned sad. He must be used to hearing that from other elves, but Servani doesn't know why he'd be surprised.

“That is a shame, but I am flexible. Why have you sought me out?”

Servani looked down at his feet, brows drawn. Why had he come over here? This Solas did have similar behavior to himself; quiet, not initiating conversation, liked to keep an eye on their surroundings.... so maybe that had something to do with it. After a moment of thought, Servani looked up, not quite meeting his eyes. “Solas, right? My name is Servani.”

Solas looked suddenly thunderous. “You are named after the constellation that represents slavery?”

He quirked a brow, looking up at the taller elf with a 'duh' expression. “I was a slave in T- up north, but Dorian helped me escape. He did ask if I wanted to change my name, but I've had it for so long that I don't see the point.”

“The _point_ would be to not be associated with your past every time you introduce yourself.”

The shorter elf sighed, rolling his eyes. Solas looked positively miffed at that. “I'm an elf traveling with a T- ..Northern mage, who everyone down south assumes is a M-Magister. I don't need to say my name for people to assume I'm still a slave. Most people don't recognize the constellation Servani anyhow.” A pause, his expression becoming contemplative. “I don't know why I'm telling you this, you're a stranger.”

Another moment of silence. Solas was quiet, seeming to know that Servani had more to say.

“I was going to ask if you were a slave yourself, because you act like me, and slaves I knew back in- up north. You watch, you judge, you clearly don't like conversation.”

“And yet here we are.”

“Yeah, well, I just went so far out of my comfort zone starting a conversation with you that I'm surprised I'm not sobbing on the floor right now. I'd appreciate a little less sarcasm, thanks. I am not afraid to sneak into your cabin and freeze all your smallclothes in retribution.”

At least the taller elf had the thought to look chastised. “I.. am sorry, my tone was uncalled for. You are right, I do not go out of my way to speak to anyone. I am not a slave, however.”

“Hm,” Servani mused, “Well, I'm going to go back to hiding now before I have a panic attack. Sorry for the loss of your hair by the way- I assume you weren't born with a head that could blind passersby.”

As he walked away he thought he heard Solas choking in response to his comment. Maker's breath, Dorian was rubbing off on him wasn't he? Making ridiculous statements like that. Hm. It was good for deflecting, though, he mused as he crouched down in a dark corner somewhere and tried to calm himself down. His heart beat a mile a minute and his breath was labored. He hoped Dorian got back soon.

When Dorian returned, feeling haggard and tired, the first thing he did was seek out Servani to make sure he was still okay. This was the first time he'd left Servani on his own for any significant length of time, and he was admittedly more anxious than usual after the turn of events in Redcliffe. He'd never found out what had happened to Servani, as nobody in the castle's future had any information.

But, given how bleak it was, and how haggard and broken everyone looked... He could only assume that the same or worse had happened to his companion.

Dorian eventually found Servani- after sneaking away from Cassandra and her demands to hear his and the Herald's testimony on the future- in their room at the Tavern, sitting at the little desk. A candle was lit next to him and he was drawing on a piece of parchment. Servani paused when the door opened, looking up with a startled expression. When he realized who it was however, he jumped from the desk and ran over.

“What happened? There was news a few days ago that you were coming back, but something happened? You're not hurt are you? Dorian if you got yourself hurt I am going to _kill_ you, you big drunkard bastard!”

Dorian laughed, heartily, something he hadn't done since the whole debacle with Alexius. “I'm fine, I'm fine. Just rattled. I can tell you everything after I've spoken with the Seeker and Spymaster, I just wanted to check on you first.”

“I-” He sighs, looking up at him with a tired look. Ah. “I didn't die or anything, but I was less than okay. That- that Solas guy, the bald elf who looks like he's silently judging everybody? Head glints in the light, a worse fashion distaster than you say I am-” Dorian snorts at that, and Servani gives a small but genuine smile. “He seemed the safest to approach because, well, he obviously didn't like anybody else there so we had that in common. I kept going out of my comfort zone and bugging him, and he eventually gave me a slab of parchment and charcoal. Told me that drawing was a soothing activity.”

“I suppose he noticed how utterly terrified you were under all that posturing you do around strangers.”

“Yeah, guess so, or maybe he just wanted me to leave him alone- I don't really care, it gave me something to do that kept me away from other people.”

Dorian sighs, placing a hand on the shorter man's shoulder. “Not everyone is out to get you, or secretly a spy trying to drag you back North. Besides! With your habit of destroying people's delicates with fire or ice will surely keep any fools away. That and your mood swings.”

“I do not-! No, no you're right I can be kind of moody.”

“I'm so glad you're coming to terms with your flaws, I'm so very proud.”

“Yeah, peacock, and you don't have flaws?”

“Why, Servani! You insult me so. I am perfection incarnate, you know this.”

Servani snorts and the worry in Dorian's chest loosens a little. “I know I have to stop being so scared of everyone I don't know, I can't live my whole life dependent on you... Maybe once we leave I can start working on that properly.”

Silence falls between them and Dorian isn't sure how to tell Servani about his intentions.... The elf catches on fast to the awkward atmosphere and gives Dorian a sharp look, folding his arms. He tries to read the Altus's expression as the quiet lingers, then- “What's going on, why do you look nervous?”

“Well...”

“Well?”

“I was considering... joining the Inquisition.”

Mahanon had just managed to finally get away from Leliana and Cassandra- with the promise of finding Dorian so he could give his statement as well- when he saw the Altus standing around outside the Tavern, trying and failing to hide his exhaustion behind an air of aristocracy. He passed by him, telling him that he is wanted in the Chantry- the man gave an over-dramatic sigh in that way Mahanon had become accustomed to while traveling to Redcliffe, and the elf only laughed at him. As Dorian walked away, Mahanon entered to Tavern to get a drink and seek out Varric.

He was okay, Mahanon knew he was okay because he'd seen him on their way back- but he was still shaken by what he and Dorian had seen. How lost and haggard Varric had become in that future.

_Varric is fine, He's alive and not dead, demons did not kill him- they won't get the chance to._

Everyone had looked so tired and dead inside. He couldn't let any of that come to pass.

“Hey, Herald!” Called a familiar voice, and Mahanon let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. “Come over here and have a drink with me.”

And he did, sitting down next to the Dwarf and listening to the hustle and bustle of the room around him. All the patrons making noise, Maryden playing her lute, and the Chargers being loud as ever. They were all alive, everything was fine. They were _fine_.

“Hey, you okay?” Varric asks, setting his hand on Mahanon's shoulder. “Still shaken up about that future stuff huh? From what I heard, I'm not surprised. _Red Lyrium_ , shit, that's something we really got to keep an eye on for sure.”

“Yeah, that stuff is....”

“Dangerous? Disturbing? Scary as shit when you think about what it can do?”

“All of that, yes.”

Varric gives him a hearty pat on the back, and the strength of it shakes Mahanon's body. He laughs, patting Varric with as much force. They sit in quiet for a moment, the elven rogue ordering a mug of ale, not watered down, because he was determined to get drunk today. “A drink to our desire to kick the Venatori's asses?”

“Creators, yes, several of them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, I wrote and re-wrote and re-wrote this chapter like five times. I'm still iffy about it bc I finally finished it while I had a headache but meh, I can always go back and re-write this fic someday if I turn out to be really unhappy with it. For now I just need to focus on putting my heart into what I'm writing in the moment. Ah, the stages of writer's anxiety is coming full circle.

**Author's Note:**

> Now, is it possibly probably a bit ooc? Maybe, possibly. I am worried it might be, even though I watched video after video after video of interactions with Dorian before I began writing this. But! Did I have fun writing this chapter? Yes! Yes I did. I am very, *very* pleased with myself. And uh, considering this is my first work with an oc that isn't a barely-mentioned, made-for-the-plot-only character, it's kind of freeing. Yay, me! Good to have my desire to write back. Maybe I'll get inspired to finish one of my other incomplete fics while working on this. We'll see.
> 
> Oh! Also, please tell me if I should add anymore tags. I have a hard time telling when I should tack one on, so it'd be nice to get a heads up from anyone that sees something that might need warning.


End file.
